


I Found You Again

by robbaery



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Art, F/M, MY WEAKNESS, Reincarnation AU, museum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 08:21:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13655145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robbaery/pseuds/robbaery
Summary: "And now they’re in a different life but this painting is their magnet, their string that twines them together once again."





	I Found You Again

**Author's Note:**

> this is andy. i dedicate this fic to sam, my sweet crackhead who introduced this wonderful ship to me.

It isn’t a trait of a painter to be vain. Rather, what they possess is a constant admiration of their innate surroundings and the beauty that people exude other than their appearances. Margaery, an esteemed artist of her time, a lost time albeit, still retained the instant reaction of being coy when she hears a compliment of her works. Especially now, lifetimes have slipped past through her fingers and centuries have given her numerous versions of thanks because of strokes and colour schemes on canvas.

Today isn’t any different. She sat at a long and cold bench and stares at one of her most beloved paintings. She heard the tour guide announce how it costs five million pounds and even more so each year. Her plush mouth curves at hearing this. The awe and adoration of the audience is a sight she always drinks in like a finely aged wine. 

She recalled the posh society throughout the decades, of dresses past ankles, ridiculous perched hats on bouncy curls, and chins high in the air as though societal barriers were ever a matter in all the years she lived with pretentious people. The women gushed on her works of her lover, in all the sides of life she has come to love about him. The men susurrated on how a woman shouldn’t hold a brush and couldn’t compare to any male artists, but they never voiced this near their wives or girlfriends in fear of an empty bed side. She heard it nonetheless. One gaze at her paintings and she never dignified their empty insults.

“Robb, oh here it is! Jon and I went here last week and I told you it resembled so much like you its uncanny!” An amused voice lilted, the joyous sound bouncing on the spacious hall they were in.

Margaery straightened in a rigid stance. Memories of pastel gowns lit underneath an afternoon sun, their braided locks swaying in the wind as they ran with hands interlocked, and their innocent smiles after eating lemon cakes could’ve made men with steeled hearts smile; it all came in a flowery wave in her mind.

She tilted her chin higher and her heart danced in its ribcage at seeing the familiar redhead. Sansa, she tested in her thoughts. She clutched her velvet pouch tighter at seeing the girl’s brother chuckle and stands next to Sansa. Her impulsiveness would’ve propelled her to carry her feet to them, to familiarity after years of not knowing his touch. But hesitance roots her to the spot. 

Instead, she walks over to the overly large portrait of a garden in the eighteen hundreds that is situated right next to her beloved painting; the very topic of her work is breathing the same air as her now and this electrifies her bones. 

“What do you think of it?” Sansa inquiries from her brother with that same smile that won over hearts of lords and ladies of their forgotten era.

Robb didn’t change at all, Margaery marvelled. His unruly curls of brown still curled on the shells of his ears and forehead, nearly obscuring the artic in his eyes. His mouth is lush, pink, and ever so tempting. He wore a simple Henley with denim jeans hugging his thick thighs and boots. His right hand brushed on the beard growing at the edges of his defined jaw. “It really does look like me, huh? Makes me think I’d make a handsome knight, Sans.” He jested, earning a giggle from his sister.

Though she feigned attentiveness to what she stares at, amusement flickered on the corner of her mouth. You were the most valiant knight the realm has known, at least to me. She wanted to say, to make him know her again.

She recalled the day she painted the world renowned painting. Painting became her hobby in Winterfell other than knitting. Her love of this activity increased when her belly swelled with their babe and so she spent days with paint tainting her pale skin but the smile on her face is the sure defence against Robb’s worried rants for her safety. So, to quell her lord husband’s anxieties, she offered to paint him in all a lord’s glory; a thing he truly deserves. Her husband blushed profusely at her compliment but obeyed her. 

When she finished the painting, Margaery swore she has never seen such sparkle in one’s face when Robb gazed at her work with interest. He bided everyone who has eyes and limbs to behold the physical evidence of Margaery’s love for him. It stood against time, exceeding their time together, and now they’re in a different life but this painting is their magnet, their string that twines them together once again. 

A pulse of fear made her fantasies slip away from her as she cautiously glanced around the busy Saturday afternoon in the Florence museum. He’s not on a double date is he? She wondered with a hard thump in her chest. Surely, Talisa wouldn’t torment her in this tranquil life. They married for a few lifetimes. She muttered in her thoughts, a tiny insecure voice whined. She turned, ready to abandon her plan of reintroduction. Yet when she pivoted away, Robb turned as well and their shoulders brushed against each other, even with layers of clothing in this chilly day, tingles danced in her veins. 

And she knew the gods were kind in this lifetime. 

Robb studied her, his eyes roving over her nervous form. She could’ve sworn his focus lingered on her stomach as though he could recall the times she bore him babe after babe much to their delight. “I-I’m sorry…” He lamely apologizes.

Margaery beams at this opportunity. She’s delighted at seeing him after their past lives have merely skimmed each other with touches that couldn’t be properly sealed down as fond memories. “No problem. It seems you’re enjoying the painting. I heard it’s worth five million pounds.” She says. It is a challenge to not hug him tight and ask him to run away with her again. 

Sansa gasps. “Woah, Robb, you’re worth five million pounds! Have you noticed that painting is scarily identical to my older brother? His name is Robb and I’m Sansa.” The redhead says and she stretches out her hand.

I know. We used to eat lemon cakes together. We nearly went to Highgarden. She accepts the handshake. Her heart hammers in frantic as she reached out and waited for Robb to mimic his sister’s action. Their palms touched, fingers brushing, and she could almost hope she saw the flash of recognition so briefly in his eyes. “I’m Margaery.” She returns in reply. 

“What do you think of the painting?” Robb questioned her, shy and almost intrigued. Just like how the first time they met, among the many in the years of continually meeting and loving him. 

She taps the end of her chin in feigned thoughtfulness. “I think the woman who painted this is a romantic. She painted her husband in a light of love, with his features more heightened because that’s how she sees him in her dreams. But, to be honest, fantasies can’t ever compare to what they had.” She cursed herself at revealing way too much because of their flabbergasted reactions. She waved a pamphlet in the air. “Uh, I read the brochure about the artist. It’s said she painted him over thirty times throughout the years of their courtship and marriage.” 

Sansa placed a hand on her chest and practically swooned at this given information. “My, now that’s love. I should tell Jon to paint me but he’s so horrid at even sketching Ghost!” She huffs a breath in pretend annoyance but her jade orbs gleams at the mention of her boyfriend. “Won’t you have lunch with us?” She requested with a bright smile.

Robb nods, regarding her with an expression that she deciphered to be curiosity. He wants to know why this feels familiar. Margaery thought to herself with delight and had trouble containing the giggle. “And maybe talk more about the painting? I bet you’re intelligent as you are beautiful. Full of fun facts and pretty smiles fill your pockets.” He bantered with a smile.

You are clever as you are pretty, my sweet wife!

Margaery ambles between them. Her knuckles graze against Robb’s hand and her smile isn’t because of Sansa telling her things she already knows, already lived through numerous times before. No, her grin is because she’s finally reunited with her best friend and her lover in this strange lifetime. And once more, they’ll love, live, and meet each other in the next life.  
But she wouldn’t want to get ahead of herself so she’ll enjoy this afternoon and adore every moment after that.


End file.
